


Silent reaction

by neonjikook



Category: anonymous character - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Mental Breakdown, Nameless - Freeform, Other, Poetic, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonjikook/pseuds/neonjikook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But there is always hope from the sun, as it stretches its kindly fingers across the hills and with every touch – it fixes everything that was broken in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick poetic warm up piece before I get into writing more AU's and adding chapters to Daydreamer - I actually wrote this a while ago, but thought i'd share it with you :)

 I spend my whole life watching other people.

No really.

That’s all I ever have done, and all I will be able to do until my time comes again. This time they brought me back as – well – you’ll find out.

The darkness doesn’t envelope me. It covers me, like a warm, black blanket of snow. I’m not really ever here, but I like it that way – being silent, being unseen. I get to watch others live, fall in love and grow old together and one day I hope I can too.

It’s bittersweet this morning, the sky is candy-floss pink with streaks of sugar painted across the sky delicately, wispy trails of water vapour lace the pastel canvas and little tiny toy planes race each other. A gentle sound of bird song floats mellow across an icy blast of air that chills me to my core and the landscape is frost-bitten and shivering. But there is always hope from the sun, as it stretches its kindly fingers across the hills and with every touch – it fixes everything that was broken in the dark.

This morning is different. Not just because it’s colder, but because I feel footsteps on my heart in the rhythm it is beating. You may say footsteps don’t mean anything, but to me, they mean a person is moving forwards – they are progressing.

They are living.

The foot fall I hear is earthy and every landing is gentle. As if they don’t want to damage the forest floor. I hear them sigh, their breath curls out of their parted lips wistfully, and their soft-tan freckled skin is perfectly contrasted with the dappled sunlight, shining meekly through the trees. 

They take a look around them, stood perfectly still just listening to the scent of flowers, seeing the brook as it laughs and falls over pebbles on its journey, breathing deeply the crisp air. Spending my time as a watcher and a listener means I understand everything so much deeper. Why birds fly to warmer countries when it’s colder, why birds sing after a storm, why rainbows appear after rain.

It’s all to mark a new era, a new beginning.

They take a seat on a moss littered log and close their eyes, they turn their attention to nothing but the forest – ah I see, this person is clever. I follow their thoughts; their mind takes them into a peaceful clearing where they are sat. They hear the water bouncing off the branches, they smell the soft scent of iced earth, and they feel the worn bark beneath their fingers. They sigh once again, unaware of any presence other than themselves.

I observe their face. It is young, with carved angular features that are softened by the eyes, eyes set into the head like pools of amber. Lips of a soft pastel pink, like the sky, with a texture as soft as clouds. And skin unusually freckled under the eyes and across the bridge of the nose.

They are beautiful.

Days become weeks, and weeks become months before I next see them again. This time they are changed. They take the same path but their once gentle steady footfall is irregular, erratic even. It doesn’t take long for me to realise that they are limping.

I hear sniffling and notice the sky has darkened; clouds barricade the sun like it has done something illegal. They are upset. I cannot bear to see a good person sad.

Glancing behind them their breath hitches in their throat and they add another stride, their pace quickens and by now I am afraid they will fall, as the darkness becomes more of a threat with every step they take. And like I cast a spell on them with my thoughts, they become weak and stumble on a root, they hit the ground heavily. It knocks the breath out of them and they gasp for air, struggling against the tree and breathing in the dirt which starts to suffocate them.

Lying in the cold they begin to sob, heavy, deep sobs that shudder their entire body but allow some sort of air to be drawn into the lungs as they choke on the darkness.

I take another look at them now.

Their eyes are no longer bright pools of amber; they are pits of despair - encased by deep, dark circles. Their skin is dry and pasty-pale, lacking the glow it had last time I saw it. This time the angular jawline and cheekbones do not look softened by the eyes, they look harsh and gaunt and almost skeletal.

My dear child, I know what you are suffering, I too have been through what you have and now I am here – now I am beautiful, but please don’t let it take you too for one day.

 

You will be stronger than I ever was. 


End file.
